Please, Keep Talking
by DapperCrapper
Summary: It all started on one busy night after a grand party. That's where he had met her. What was about her that drew him in? One shot. Mentions of adult themes and violence.


Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Black Butler. Both belong to people far more talented than I am. Not a single cent is being made from this work of fiction and this is purely for entertainment purposes only.

Warnings: mentions of smut, but censored for this site, violence, gore.

Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Black Butler

Pairing: Grell/Drusilla

S.S.S.S.

As far as females went, he had never even wanted Madam Red this badly.

What made him want her so? Was it the way her delicate hand closed around his and led him up the bloody staircase of the grand estate? The way she gracefully stepped over the corpses as they made their ascent?

A sound hit his ears, soft and musical like bells. Her laughter, he realized and he looked up to see her smirking at him from over her shoulder, her thick raven hair falling down the exposed marble skin of her upper back to continue down the crimson silk that wrapped around her slender figure. Whether that dress was orginally red when she purchased it or stained from the blood of the massacre was anyone's guess. Was it how delicious she looked in red that made him make this exception? She caught him watching her and she slowly ran a finger along the bloody hand rail, bringing it to her crimson painted mouth and slowly licking away the blood, icy blue eyes locked on his the entire time. A shudder racked his body and he couldn't contain himself any longer.

Yanking back on her hand, he smirked at the little delighted squeal she made when she lost her footing and her back collided with his firm chest. He smelled the blood on her and his cock hardened in his trousers and he pressed himself against her firm backside.

"Dear girl, you are simply decadant! I just want to to tear you apart!"

The woman in his arms made a sound between and purr and growl. She turned to face him and ran her nose along the column of his throat, her cool tongue licking a long line from his collar to the shell of his ear. The reaper shivered and squealed loudly at the sensation and her mouth was at his ear.

"Ferry me across the Phlegathon, my Charon. Boiling blood and fire. Hot and wet..." she paused and licked his ear, causing him to jerk and sigh. "I'll pull the mangled skin from your body."

A tremor shook his body at the viscous words spoken in that melodious voice.

"I'll wear your flesh until its worn," her hand slid from his shoulder down his chest and to the waistband of his pants.

Oh, yes. This was what drew her to him like honey.

Her delicate hand slid over the bulge in his pants and he moaned at her touch as well as her words. No one he has ever come across over the centuries has ever managed to talk so delicously dirty and viscously while being poetic at the same time. So sinfully dramatic and with a lovely, lithe body wrapped perfectly in red silk frosted with the blood of her kills. His eyes slid open and he looked into those icy eyes of hers, so wide with a manic blood thirst that rivaled his own. Yes, it was no wonder why he wanted her so much.

"Oh, yes, Druey!" he paused to gasp as her fingers gripped him tighter. He ran a hand through her dark curls. "Keep talking..."

He shivered, giggled, squealed and moaned in turns as the mad vampiress spoke poetically viscous things to him. Yes, this is why he wanted her so badly. He recalled the moment he first saw her earlier that night.

S.S.S.

_Grell's Death Scythe revved as he reaped the souls of the slaughtered. He was sure to be very busy tonight. It hadn't even been ten minutes and he was on his fortieth soul. The puncture wounds on the throats of the victims screamed vampire kills. And from the look of things this one was particularly blood thirsty._

_More than likely a fledgling, fresh from the grave try to make a name for him or herself in the underworld. Or possibily one who didn't give a damn about the human hunters or that girl wrapped in darkness, the Slayer. Either way, he was certain he'd be putting in some overtime. _

_The trail of corpses took him to a large manor house where a ball had appeared to be going on. However the butler at the door had his throat ripped out. The sight of the corpse induced a fantasy image of another 'butler' with his throat torn open while Grell used his torn, delictable body as he wished. Squealing and shivering at the mental image he made his way to the party._

_Music reached his ears as he entered the ballroom and his delicate brows rose at the sight of all the corpses that littered the marble floor but he froze at the pair of corpses standing in the middle of the dance floor._

_Two females spun across the dance floor. The young redhead clad in an elegant green dress was already dead, her head at an odd angle. The brunette that held her had her fangs buried into the woman's throat as she spun her around the dance floor in time with the music. She moved gracefully, bloodying her shoes as well as the bottom of her scarlet dress, not that it mattered. Her small hands, holding the lady's waist and hand, were stained with blood as well. _

_Oh, he liked this one._

_Suddenly, she stopped and the tensing in her arms told him she had sensed him. Her eyes, which had been previously closed, snapped open and bore into his and a growl escaped her. Then her eyes went wide and she dropped her meal, however took no notice. Shock had her demon retreating and her face turned back to the woman she once was and she was a beauty. Wide blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a scarlet mouth painted with both lipstick as well as blood. _

_He smirked at her reaction. Of course she'd drop her snack when something as fabulous as himself was thrust in front of her. She recovered quickly though, vampiress glided toward him, a lithe, fluid movement that was animalistic as well as charmingly female that he found he admired and envied. She stopped in front of him and smiled._

_"I stand on the shores of Acheron and the Ferryman becons me. He is not dark and dreary, wraped in a ratty cloak but red and beautiful... like raw burns on flesh." _

_Grell's eyes widened at her mad, poetic praise and a squeal escaped the reaper and he struck his sexy pose. "Why thank you, dear girl!" He grabbed her by the hand and spun her to him in time with the music. Her eyes widened and she giggled as he spun her around the dance floor, bloodying his shoes. He dipped her then pulled her upright. "And aren't you the magnificent one, all covered and filled with stolen blood. What's your name?"_

_The vampire girl fell into step with him and they danced a perfect Waltz across the blood soaked floor. "My name is Drusilla."_

_Yes, he had heard of her. She was the latest addition to Angelus's group. That vampire and his blonde sire always kept him busy. His mind flickered to the Irish vampire and he shivered. He wouldn't mind wrestling with that sexy mosquito. _

_"I stand before my Charon and have no coins for my eyes as tribute, but hope the pretty mess I made is pleasing to him." She gestured to the massacre around them. She then gained a farway look in her eyes._

_"The moon whispers to me that cold flesh can be a tribute and my Charon will take it, and me as I like best." She stopped dancing and leaned closer, nose to nose with him, "Raw and bloody. Do you like branding irons?" she asked suddenly._

_His eyebrow winged up, and he yanked her closer. "My little dead girl," he spun her madly across the floor, dipping and twirling her then lifting her off of her feet. " I'll brand you like a cattle then ride you like a pony. I'd gladly have your babies!"_

_Drusilla frowend. "I... don't think it works like that..."_

_"Well, you can have mine."_

_"I can't do that either." She tilted her head and gained a vacant stare. "I'm all cold inside and out. No life or warmth for Drusilla. She was naughty. Bad, bad little girl!"_

_Grell wasn't putt off by her madness, but instead it turned him on even more. "Yes, you are. You're _my_ bad little girl."_

_Her wide eyes turned to him and she smiled. "Naughty... wicked... Charon."_

_"My name's Grell." He leaned down to kiss her then paused when he noticed something. "The music stopped."_

_Drusilla blinked and glanced behind her and sighed. "The pianist died. I told him to keep playing even after I made pretty ribbons with his insides." She shrugged and he pouted._

_"How dreadful! No music for our dance."_

_"Oh no, my pet..." she leaned up until her mouth was a hair's width away from his, and he shivered when she spoke. "Your screams will be music enough."_

_S.S.S_

In the end, his screams and hers had been more than enough. The two lay tangled in the white sheets of the master bed, spotted with blood. Neat punctures covered the reaper's flesh while ragged tears littered Drusilla's flesh. Their clothes lie in tatters, strewn across the floor. A bloody doll sat at the foot of the bed, and next to it a pair of glasses.

Lifting her head from the crook of his neck, Drusilla sat up with a sigh and a giggle. "That was marvelous..."

Grell simply smirked. Of course it was. She would probably have no use of her sire after sampling him. And the girl was a treat. Looking at her now, the mess he made of her, the mess she had made of him and this party, he knew he could love her.

The young vampire stopped and gained that faraway look in her eyes. "People will be using your scythe in about a hundred years... to cut trees... and people in half."

Grell sighed and laid back down. They would have to do something about the batty nonsense that she kept babbling.


End file.
